A Collection of Drabbles
by Rory J. Evans
Summary: Peter/Caspian. Slash. Drabble #5 - Peter and Caspian enjoy the first days of summer.
1. Candy

Disclaimer: Not C.S. Lewis. Written for the LiveJournal community 100foraslan (prompt:candy), but if anyone wants to give me one word prompts I will consider writing them. As for this, it contains slash and incest.

Milk and Honey

Edmund is milk over honey, tastes of apples smothered in caramel, acts like sour-on-sweet gummies. He is made of tan lines, like brown sugar on white, and Peter doesn't know which he likes better, samples a little bit of both.

He's the shared sticky kisses of peppermint and candy canes at Christmas, of fine chocolate with liqueur until Peter isn't sure which causes the burning licks down his throat - brother or brandy.

He is shameless, opens his mouth and tells Peter to taste what he is - cracked ice and strawberry sauce.

And Peter thinks he has an addiction.


	2. Liquid

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Liquid Sin

Caspian's skin is liquid sin - of salt and sweat, boy and king. Edmund drowns, and there are just fingers tangled in hair, lips burning into his, to bring him back.

In the dark, Caspian becomes a sea snake that wraps around him, sliding to the motions of the waves.

Edmund tries to say no but does yes and feels no longer Just. He's surrendered to the hands that touch maps and eyes that search skies and wonders what Peter would think, Susan would say, if he told them - he no longer belongs to Aslan, but to Caspian instead.


	3. Trouble

Disclaimer: Not mine. Written for the LiveJournal community 100foraslan. Prompt: trouble.

Caught

Peter doesn't know what he's doing, lets fingers roam over the newly revealed skin. It's so wrong, but it's so soft. Under the pretense of being hot, he takes off his own shirt too, lets his pants stay on for the friction.

Dark spots form behind Caspian's eyes. Susan calls for them from somewhere. He can't bring himself to care as he grips Peter's hips harder and hands skim, lips tease.

The yells, now urgent, draw nearer until they stop.

Peter looks up, but all he can see is the trail of Susan's skirts rushing away from the parting grass.


	4. Roses

Disclaimer: Not mine. Written for 100foraslan on LiveJournal. Features Peter/Susan incest and The Het. This is also my first time writing Het so I don't know how it turned out.

Once A Queen

She has rouge on her cheeks. It's the first thing Peter notices when he walks into the room, though he can barely see through the hazy smoke that lingers after her last customer.

He thinks of the Gentle Queen - Susan who stood regal by his side, had soft hands and honest eyes - and breathes in the cheap rose perfume. She no longer looks like a Queen, her dress pulled high, face torn between an innocent and cat-like grin, but Peter knows that somewhere she still is.

If he pretends, maybe he won't be able to tell the difference.


	5. What if?

Disclaimer: Still not C.S. Lewis. I haven't been on here in a long while. College happens, but hopefully, now I'll be back and writing like I used to. This was writing for an LJ prompt: "What if we fell in love?"

Like Waves in Summer

Peter doesn't even want to consider it, with the warm welcome weight of the crown on his head, no longer speckled in blood but coated in gold. It's too soon for him to allow himself those thoughts (_he could have been sent back_); he needs to make sure it'll still be real tomorrow, needs to hold it all together until he's sure it won't fall apart.

He closes his eyes and opens them wide against the bright white spots of light - just to make sure.

It's summer: Cair Paravel in the sunshine, the spray striking up from the breaking waves, the languid beat of bird's wings, the world in front of him and Caspian behind, pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck. There are strong hands holding onto his arms, a smile he can't so much see as feel. And it's just him and them and Narnia, and Peter has everything he ever wanted.

He shifts his body tighter, closer, so used to the feel of _it could all just go away _if he's not paying attention hard enough. Caspian feels the flexing tendons beneath his fingertips, growls low enough to produce shivers: "Peter."

Peter lets his body sink deeper into the warmth around him and a smile to tug at his lips. "I know," he says to which Caspian sighs like he hopes it true that Peter believes it, but slips his arms around him anyway and leans into Peter, body humming with something like _this is where you belong_.

It's not the first time he's said it (thought it, felt it), not the first time he's hoped to say something more, but _promise _is all that comes to mind and everything else is lost in the hazy warmth of Peter. Just _promise promise promise._ _Narnia is yours. Stay._

He wants Peter to know that this is the only place Caspian will ever belong, that he feels the magic thrumming through their bodies, between their laced hands, catching in their palms but doesn't know how to say it, just holds on tight.

Peter closes his eyes, the wind breathing past hair like spun gold, and answers with a light press of fingertips. _I know._


End file.
